


The Anatomist

by botanyclub



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Clinical Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex (His and Hers), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, but gilbert gets some studying done anyway, in which anne is a distraction, this got really soft for a story that starts off with gilbert getting that gluck gluck 3000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26108803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanyclub/pseuds/botanyclub
Summary: Twelve years under their belt and they are older now—should theoretically be wiser—but the spirit of competition never truly goes away, simply manifests itself in the little things and some of the big ones as well. Like now, for example, when patience is a virtue he feels slipping away and Anne’s hands draw closer to the fastenings of his pants.“Well?” she hums. “Aren’t you going to read to me?”
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151
Collections: The Shirbert Circle





	The Anatomist

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpts from Gray’s Anatomy (1870) and Anne of the Island (1915).

_Three years_ , he tells her. _It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course._

Anne isn’t a liar in the strictest sense of the word, but her imaginative and romantic nature predisposes her to habits such as embellishment and fancy. Like how nothing is ever _just_ a bad day but positively the worst one she’s ever known, or how she once bit into a raspberry so sour she loses the sensation of taste altogether, relegated to a life without knowing what it is to experience sweet or savory or all the flavors in between. Gilbert can barely keep up most days when she speaks in magnitudes far greater than what the average person can comprehend, himself included, and counts his lucky stars that Anne chooses to be with him regardless—when Gilbert can offer little else besides endless devotion in exchange for the vibrancy and color she brings into his world.

“I don't want sunbursts and marble halls,” Anne assures him, tears of happiness leaking from the corners of her eyes. She is undaunted by all the ways in which Gilbert lacks, shaking off every qualifier to eagerly accept his proposal. Her next words are ones that he keeps embroidered on the surface of his heart, four simple words he repeats to himself like prayer: “I just want _you_!”

Even still, three years is an awfully long time to wait.

It’s not so much Anne’s commitment that Gilbert doubts in the slightest, not when she loves him so fiercely and ceaselessly despite the distance that stretches between them now. Rather, it is her _impatience_ he distrusts; the restless way Anne touches and hovers when they are reunited the semester before he graduates, shortly after ending her principalship in Summerside and retiring early to Green Gables. This gap in time before his prodigal return leaves Anne antsy and in desperate need of stimulation, having nothing to turn to outside of piddling with a novel idea and the occasional afternoon tea date with Diana and newborn baby Jack.

“Gilbert, you’re supposed to be on _holiday_. How is it you can stomach the act of studying when there are so many more interesting things to do instead?” Dramatically, Anne drapes herself across the chaise lounge behind him, arms folded across the headrest as she glares daggers into his skull. Gilbert grins but continues scratching notes into the margins of his textbooks, careful not to tip over any papers with an errant elbow when his desk is overflowing with all manner of study aides on the topics of pregnancy and childbirth. Dr. Oak had generously offered Gilbert a position in her lab researching new developments on cesarean sections, so that no mothers need be lost to the horrors of breech births ever again.

“Sweetheart, you know perfectly well why I need to read up on this material before school starts back up. And contrary to your own set of fancies, this subject is of great fascination to me.”

Anne sniffs, affronted. “I will rephrase the question then. Gilbert, how is it you can stomach the act of studying when we are here _alone_ , in your house, without Hazel breathing down our backs or Bash’s ongoing commentary at the slightest hint of impropriety? When I am sat here, waiting, and in serious want of your affections?”

“If you could feel my affection all these years from the other side of the country, then you can surely feel it now from where you are relaxed across the room.”

She tosses the nearest object, a couch pillow, in the direction of his head. “You think you’re _so_ clever and yet always seem to forget that logic and reason hold no sway over me.”

Anne is, at her core, a most illogical creature indeed. One whom Gilbert loves dearly and with every last cell in his body, but too much of a temptress for her own good and for the singular thread of sanity he clings to when it comes to finally getting her way. It seems the closer and closer they get to Gilbert’s impending graduation and matrimony, the bolder Anne becomes when they find themselves alone or when she manages to pull him into an alcove and presses her breasts against him _just so_.

Diana (sparingly) and Phil (in great detail) have been filling her head with daydreams on the pleasures of being a wife, up to and including the duties she’s expected to perform in the bedroom when the time finally comes. But rather than shy away at the lewdness of it all, these stories seem to spur her on even more, to the point that she is insatiable and no longer content with the small strides they've made in physical intimacy over the years. Gilbert knows every edge and contour to her soft mouth and lips, the womanly shape of Anne’s body overtop her corsets and bras, but now she’s constantly asking for _more_ (for longer and deeper and harder) and Gilbert doesn’t know how to give it to her without giving into her all the way.

So since returning home to Avonlea for the duration of winter break, he elects to avoid the problem altogether, expertly concocting ways to pull someone else into the fray, or coming up with a task he must complete whenever they find themselves alone. Gilbert does this so well, he bides and whittles his time down to three days remaining, before his luck finally runs out and Anne shows up on his doorstep not an hour after the LaCroixs leave to visit friends in The Bog. He spots the look of determination in her eyes as she shoulders past him in the doorway and knows, right then, that he’s in for a _very_ long night.

But Anne doesn’t put up as much of a fuss as he had expected (and Gilbert had expected at least another half hour’s worth of placation and promises of “ _later_ ”). She only scowls and retreats, battered copy of Moby Dick in hand that she flips through with a flourish to express her bitter annoyance at his resolve. All things considered, a rather mild response. Gilbert thinks she must have given up altogether when Anne remains compliant, uncharacteristically quiet save for a rustling he attributes to her rearranging to get more comfortable on the chaise. The fireplace crackles merrily in the background and masks the more discernible sounds that would have given her away: the unraveling of ribbons and heavy fabric crumpling into a heap on the floor.

It comes as a surprise when Anne approaches furtively from behind, dropping shamelessly into his lap having shed the outer layers of her dress. She is stripped down to just her chemise and drawers, corset still cinching the small of her waist and emphasizing the tops of her milky, white breasts. At this angle peering down, Gilbert can see the hidden valley in between, freckled skin beckoning him enticingly for a taste.

“Anne-girl,” he groans, his voice already hoarse for no reason. “What are you doing?”

She settles in by circling her arms around his neck and adjusts her plush bottom to get better situated in her seat. Strawberry eyelashes bat demurely in response, teasing as Anne says, “Spending quality time with my fiance, of course.”

“You are playing a dangerous game,” Gilbert warns, leaning in for a quick peck before returning full attention to the work laid out in front of him. It’s only a front considering his concentration slips quicker by the second, groin stirring idly to attention beneath her wicked undulations. Feigning disinterest proves useless when Anne knows him and, even worse, she can _feel_ him.

“Surely, you’re joking. I’m not doing anything at all!” But she punctures every few words with a slow, purposeful swirl, grinding down and getting him harder with every cant of her hips. After the third circle around, Gilbert puts both hands on her waist and stills the movements before he _actually_ loses his mind.

“Am I distracting you?” she flirts, nuzzling along his jawline with the delicate tip of her nose.

Gilbert shakes his head, false bravado when he tells her “No, not at all.”

In retrospect, this is a colossal mistake. He knows it when Anne leans back, one raised eyebrow and a smirk as if to say _challenge accepted_. There is a playful lilt to her voice, unmistakable, when Anne instructs him to “Keep reading then, but aloud.”

Gilbert hesitates for a moment, trying to predict her next move in the heavy-lidded way that she stares, but has never been good at forecasting her actions with any real measure of accuracy or precision. Whimsical as the wind, Anne merely laughs at the attempt and presses a kiss to his chin, equal parts comforting and a little bit pleased. “Go ahead, Gil. _Aloud._ ”

Warily, her long-suffering admirer begins.

“ _The uterus is the organ of gestation, receiving the fecundated ovum in its cavity, retaining and supporting it during the development of the fetus, and becoming the principal agent in its expulsion at the time of parturition. In the virgin state it is pear-shaped, flattened from before backwards, and situated in the cavity of the pelvis, between the bladder and rectum; it is retained in its position by the round and broad ligaments on each side, and projects into the upper end of the vagina below.”_

For the first few sentences, Anne remains perfectly still, forehead resting against the column of his neck as he reads; steady breathing that’s slow enough to be mistaken for sleep if he didn’t know her better by now. Gilbert doesn’t dare look down, but suspects that she is not nearly as idle as she seems and can practically hear the cogs turning in her head as he flips the page to begin reciting the next part.

“ _At the vaginal extremity of the uterus is a transverse aperture, the os uteri, bounded by two lips, the anterior of which is thick, the posterious narrow and long . . .”_

Anne starts to shift then, slowly at first like she’s still making up her mind, rocking back and forth trying to wiggle out of his lap. Gilbert reads on, curious, but watches her all the while; watches as Anne rolls off and sinks slowly to her knees, peering up mischievously from beneath the desk at his feet. Playful hands trace fire all the way down to his thighs and lets them sit there, palms-down, bracketing either side of his groin. She drums her fingers to a tune he can’t hear, left hand dancing next to the bulge where he hangs.

“Anne,” he says, a warning and plea all at once.

Anne giggles and the breath of it warms him despite the thick layer of his pants. “What?”

“I’m trying to study.”

“Nothing’s stopping you. Just pretend I’m not even here.”

Gilbert groans. _Impossible_. “I haven’t been able to ignore you since the day we met in those woods and even then, I somehow knew you’d be the death of me yet.”

“And you claim I’m not a distraction.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’ll tell you what, Gil. If you can finish this chapter without pausing, I’ll take it to mean you’re serious and promise to leave you to it for the rest of the evening. Cross my heart,” Anne beams wickedly, lifting the hand furthest from his dick to draw an X across her breast. He gulps at the sight.

Whatever she’s cooking up, it can’t possibly be good.

“And if I do take a pause?”

“I’ll let you know when we get there, I suppose.”

“You mean _IF_ we get there,” he returns without thinking.

Twelve years under their belt and they are older now—should theoretically be wiser—but the spirit of competition never truly goes away, simply manifests itself in the little things and some of the big ones as well. Like now, for example, when patience is a virtue he feels slipping away and Anne’s hands draw closer to the fastenings of his pants.

“Well?” she hums. “Aren’t you going to read to me?”

Gilbert swallows thickly and moves to underline the sentence he stopped at with the tips of his fingers, letting the friction against the page ground him as his heartbeat accelerates faster and faster.

_“The external layer is placed beneath the peritoneum, disposed as a thin plane on the anterior and posterior surfaces. It consists of fibres, which pass transversely across the fundus, and, converging at each superior angle of—”_

Anne makes quick work of his trousers, unwrapping Gilbert like a present, but cannot fake confidence in the tentative way she grips him, scared to squeeze any harder than the loose grasp she has now. He can’t see the expression on her face, eyes glued to his textbook and zeroing in on his line, but the small part of his brain that isn’t actively reading conjures up Anne with that familiar crease in her brow, the same one that forms whenever she’s tackling a particularly difficult problem. More than likely, she’s re-evaluating her decisions and lack of impulse control, and keeps still for so long, it dislodges Gilbert fully from the moment. But just when he’s about to put a stop to this whole scheme out of concern, Anne starts stroking him in earnest, and Gilbert's vision whites out.

“ _Smooth, soft, of a reddish color_ —” he chokes.

It is a vastly different experience when it is Anne’s hands wrapped around him, circling and jerking at a pace much slower than the one Gilbert usually sets for himself. In comparison, she is much more explorative and unsure, taking the time to fondle things like his testicles and thighs, normally neglected, while every so often dragging a fingertip across his slit to wipe away the gathering liquid. It is pure torture trying not to lose himself in the sensation of Anne, to prioritize his competitive streak instead of worshipping her image as he is always wont to do. But when Anne moves to adjust her wrist during an upwards drag, twisting it slightly with his dick still in hand, Gilbert lets out a moan so loud in the middle of his sentence it shakes foundations and raises a few ghosts at its end.

His eyes shoot immediately to Anne, who looks up from her undertaking with an expression like success. “Sorry Gilbert, did you say something?” she asks cheekily. Too cheeky to handle.

To spite her, he rattles off the next few words from memory; continues reading because he’s only four pages away from finishing (the chapter, at least) and is fully prepared to white-knuckle it through the rest when Anne suddenly puts her mouth on him in stubborn retaliation.

She licks one full stripe from base to head before enveloping his cock in her wet, hot mouth. Gilbert’s hands fly automatically to grip at the back of her neck, red tresses filling out the spaces between his fingers as he tries his best not to buck. He wants to keep his eyes open, to see the exact spot where his dick and Anne’s mouth depravedly connect, but can only throw his head back when she unyieldingly takes even more of him inside.

“Hnnn.” Gilbert’s almost incapable of forming coherent sentences, content to let himself ride out this pleasure growing hotter in his veins. Anne’s entire technique is not having any technique at all, hands and mouth moving slightly out of synch, but it is more her sheer enthusiasm that is pushing Gilbert swiftly to the edge. His Annest of Annes never does anything half-heartedly, sucking cock included, and in all of the world he thinks he’s probably the luckiest man alive.

It doesn't take long to feel his orgasm coming on, a familiar tightening sensation that he seeks to suppress to make the fantasy last longer. But Anne must sense it too because she hollows her cheeks and vastly overestimates her abilities in taking Gilbert down all the way; gags when he hits the back of her throat and lets go of her suction with a loud, obscene _pop!_

His build-up subsides and slips away faster than smoke.

Anne coughs to clear her passageway, red in the face as she tries to soften her violent hacking. Chokes out a, “God, you’re huge” comment which gives him both an ego boost and pause.

“Don’t invoke the Lord’s name in the same breath as you talk about my dick size,” Gilbert says with mock reproach, very much throbbing at the lack of her, but not so inside of his own head that he won’t take every opportunity to make Anne laugh.

She does so loudly at the chastisement, eyes shining wet from mirth and her gag reflex combined. Gilbert holds her face between his palms, gentle when he asks, “Why the hurry, my heart? We’ll be married in three months' time and then we’ll have an entire lifetime together to do such deeds.”

Anne shakes herself out of his grasp, swiping the spit and precum off her lips with the back of her hand and the sight of it milks his cock of a few more drops of fluid. Gilbert remains almost painfully erect, but ignores it in favor of the important conversation to be had.

“Won’t we still have a lifetime together, even if we indulge in each other _now_?”

“What is three more months compared to three long years?”

“What is anything in the face of how much I crave you?” Anne replies. There is a fierceness in her gaze, as if challenging him to deny the fact that he feels the exact same way and has thought about taking her fifty ways to Sunday every time they’re alone. So why is it wrong for Anne to name it, this endless chasm between them both?

“Do you really?” he whispers, knowing her to be bold but always surprised when Anne displays it.

“Insatiably, Gil. I would’ve dropped your trousers that first day you came back if Dellie hadn’t accompanied us on that walk around the orchard.”

“In broad daylight?” He does his best Rachel Lynde impression, jokingly clutching imaginary pearls to his chest.

Anne laughs, but is unable to hide the seriousness in her reply. “Anywhere and everywhere, if you would have me, Gilbert Blythe.”

The last past comes out sounding almost like a question, much too softly spoken for the suggestive nature of her words. At two and twenty, Anne has spent more than half of her life being loved and even after seven years together and hundreds of letters waxing of little else but devotion, the insecurity remains, deep-seated as all memories of trauma inherently are. It is because Anne knows what it is to be _without_ that she feels her fears more acutely than most, refusing to ask for the continual reassurance she craves out of worry of seeming needy. Sometimes, Gilbert thinks they might be made for each other when second to loving her, Gilbert loves to make her _feel_ loved.

He tucks a few errant strands of red behind Anne’s elvish ears, heartfelt when he tells her, “There is not a universe in which I wouldn’t.”

Anne brushes a hand so softly against his cheek, not quite crying but only just holding it together. “And now? Would you have me now?”

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything,” she breathes, slowly bringing herself up to her feet. Anne takes him by the hand and leads him backwards towards the chaise, walking without looking because she’s too preoccupied with kissing. Gilbert spots the bruising on her knees as she moves, livid and purple, and thanks God that they’re normally hidden beneath layers of stockings and petticoats and propriety as well. He’s not sure he could handle the sight of them during the day and the inappropriate memories they would elicit of Anne sucking him off beneath his desk.

The thought of it gets him heated again.

Gilbert makes quick work of her corset, surprised that he keeps his fingers steady enough to undo all of the hook and eye closures working his way up her spine. Through the remaining layer, Gilbert can see the silhouette of Anne’s chest and the delicate lines of her waist, and takes a shuddering breath when he maneuvers her to lie down on the chair. She follows this unspoken directive, eyes locked onto his own as Anne pushes herself flush against the backrest, knees drawn slightly to lift when Gilbert moves to shimmy her out of her bloomers as well.

Anne gasps when the wet curls of her mound meet the cold air of the room, reddening at the way Gilbert stares so intently at her slit without blinking or breathing for a long stretch of time. Impatient, she rips off her chemise, exposing her breasts and Gilbert’s internal dilemma of figuring out where exactly to look.

His love reaches out for him tenderly, arms like North Stars that pull him closer until Gilbert positions his body somewhat comfortably on top. He can count on one hand the number of times they have found themselves horizontal like this, fully-clothed and limiting themselves to fevered kisses because that is the line they chose to draw in the sand. Now, when Gilbert leans in to slot their lips, it is so much softer and slower—low tides washing away evidence ashore, no more lines because they’ll go to the ends of the earth together. A honeyed prelude to something new and unexplored.

Gilbert kisses his way down her body, neck to collarbone before licking experimentally at a nipple, taking it between his lips and sucking while Anne moans loudly in his ear. He feels her writhing beneath him as Gilbert switches targets, moving to palm the abandoned breast and rolling the peak between the tips of calloused fingers as he continues to lap hungrily at the other.

“Need you” she whines after a while, pushing him further but keeping a hold of his knit, lifting it up and off his body to reveal the smooth planes of Gilbert’s chest. “Down there _._ _Inside._ ”

He slides until he’s on his knees at the end of the chaise, cock throbbing in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Gilbert’s erection weeps but is secondary compared to his need to fully satisfy Anne.

Something dark and possessive coils in the pit of Gilbert’s stomach, looking at the patches of pink and cooling saliva he leaves in trails tracking up and down her body. Anne is beautiful always, but he has never known her to look as ethereal as she does now, prostrate and amber-cast in the flickering lights of the fire.

“Anne,” he swallows, naked vulnerability clamping ahold of his throat. Gilbert grips the edge of the chair, fingernails digging into the plush, red material beside ten perfect little toes. “I don’t know what to do. I want to make you feel good, but I don’t know how.”

Anne parts her legs wider so she can see him through the gap, cunt opening up and blooming and exposing all the delicate parts within. Her womanhood is simultaneously everything he expects having studied diagrams of it in textbooks throughout the years, but so much more of a heady experience when it belongs to his deepest-held fantasy come to life. Anne is so perfectly pink and glistening, already soaked from his earlier ministrations, and all thought ceases in his brain except for those same four words that started it all. _I just want you!_

“Remember what you said earlier about having an entire lifetime to learn? We can start with tonight, Gil. _Right now._ Just tell me what you’re doing and I can tell you how it feels.”

“And you’ll stop me if it becomes too much, too fast?”

Anne scoots in so that she can hook one leg over his shoulder, bringing him close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal. “That’s highly unlikely, dear. I want everything you have."

He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Anne quivers beneath the touch. “Everything that I am is already yours.”

He can see all the love and adoration in her eyes, a perfect match to his own, his equal in all things, but there is a slight edge to it, too; something sharp in the steel grey depths speaking to another challenge she’s contrived. “Prove it then,” Anne tells him in a register lower than he’s ever heard her speak. He throbs at the sound of it and at the words she says next. “Show me exactly how much you love me.”

And as has been the case since he was 13 years old, Gilbert finds himself entirely powerless to resist. Can only say yes and dive in with the driving force to _obey_.

He’s thankful for his medical training and the last few weeks of intensive study on the female anatomy, which gives him some semblance of a plan when it comes to bringing Anne to peak. One hand gripping her thigh, he begins his eager exploration with the other, allowing a blend of curiosity and schooling to lead the way in his approach. Tracing the moisture pooling and spreading it along the length of Anne’s slit, Gilbert rests his finger near the apex of her mound while the subtle pressure of it makes her keen even closer to his face.

In his nervousness, Gilbert begins reciting his thought process and procedure aloud, bringing new meaning to the term ‘bedside manner’ as he studies her body with rapt fascination.

“Right now, I’m touching your clitoris and it’s making you whine like this because it’s the pleasure center of your body; a bundle of nerves that, when stimulated the right way, can make you see stars.” To demonstrate, Gilbert rubs lightly in a spot just left of the nub, three tight circles that make Anne arch and cry out. His thumb is thick and covers enough surface area to make her gasp, middle and ring fingers stroking the space between her entrance and clit. She is the softest thing he has ever felt, he’s certain, and continues smearing the extra moisture Anne produces up and down, half at his ministrations and half from just the sound of Gilbert’s voice speaking the dirtiest words in the most clinical of fashions.

“This slick you’re making is to help for later on, to reduce any friction when I slide my cock inside of your entrance. Your vagina will stretch to accommodate me and I’ll make love to you, Anne, because I can’t do anything but.”

He moves his attentions just a fraction to the right, closer to where she needs him and Anne positively sobs.

“If I spill in you and my seed manages to fertilize one of your eggs, it will attach to your uterine wall and you will be with child. One with your hair and my eyes and your big imagination, running around and playing in our wonderful House of Dreams. A white picket fence with a small garden by the sea, me and you and all of the other beautiful babies to follow. I’ll kiss you every morning before I leave and bring you home flowers after work. I’ll bed you just like this, forever, until the end of our days.”

He finally puts his mouth on her like he’s been thinking about all evening, nose pressed to her clit as he swirls the taste of Anne on his tongue. The clench of her entrance around nothing but air spurs him to slip one and then a second digit inside, crooking above the knuckles to attempt to reach a spot he’s only heard of in passing. The elusive Gräfenberg spot is whispered about by some of the more debauched medical students in his year, exclusively accompanied by waggling eyebrows and under the table-high fives. Gilbert steadfastly ignores them but doesn't completely shut them out, evidenced by the way he searches for its location inside of his writhing Anne now. But he won't be able find it without trial and error and a little more time, and Anne bears down on him anyway, rocking back wantonly onto his hand, mouth, and tongue.

“I’m going to,” she babbles, suddenly tightening, and he feels the floodgates open up. “Gil please, I’m so—”

He plunges into her quicker while Gilbert spells out her name—his favorite word—with his tongue, and watches with satisfaction when she falls apart on the final stroke of the ‘E’.

Compared to the loud, unabashed way Anne builds up to her pleasure, she is relatively silent when she reaches her crest, shaking and splintering as her body seizes up. Pink ‘O’ shaped lips draw in soundless, ragged breaths, the heel of her foot digging into his back as Anne explodes like a star in supernova, just as bright and all-consuming as well. He enjoys the way her body ripples from the aftershocks of rapture, beautiful tension cascading into an equally beautiful release.

Quick to recover, Anne’s hands grope blindly for his cock, finding it shortly after to pump him back to full mast. It doesn't take her long when Gilbert knows her body is prepared to take his dick so deep, more than lubricated and loose enough with just a little more prep. When Anne commands him, “I need you inside me” in that bossy way of hers, it takes everything inside of him to not blow his load right then.

Gilbert clenches his jaw, drawing on every ounce of strength and willpower not to do as she says; almost painful, but the rational part of his brain wins out in the end. “We can’t risk it, darling. I can’t trust myself to time it correctly when you’d be so tight and clenched around me. But maybe we can try something else? Something similar?”

At that, Anne looks a little less put out and maybe even excited when he flips her on her hands and knees and lines up his member against her still soaking core. “Now hold your thighs together. Around me. Yes that’s it, my love.”

He stares at the delicate expanse of Anne’s back and bottom, the curve of her waist and the back of her neck, hair thrown over one shoulder while leaving the other in wait of an open-mouth kiss. The slow drag of his lower extremity as he leans in to bestow one makes Anne tremble and beg.

He takes a deep breath.

At the first snap of his hips, Gilbert thinks he could die from the feeling of Anne’s heat closing in all around him, from the sweet sounds she exerts to match the pace he’s set while pounding into her opening. She strains to squeeze his dick even tighter between, lower half shaking from the effort to crush. Gilbert goes feral at the slide of his cock between her lips, catching slightly against her entrance but never fully slipping in. The jiggle of her breasts as he slams into her body is the closest he’ll come to seeing heaven on earth.

“Feels nice,” Anne huffs, meeting his thrusts with her hips, rolling along with the tide as she looks back to catch his eye. Bothered that she’s capable of feeling anything besides wrecked, he leans back over and holds a finger to her clit, noting the way she hisses in equal parts sensitivity and pleasure.

Anne’s vocalizations sound like music to his ears, Moonlight Sonata and Wagner’s Bridal Chorus all in one.

 _“_ Gil, Gil _, Gil!”_ She comes again, quietly.

He buries his scream into her curtain of hair, finishing in a convulsion that stretches on for eons before collapsing, boneless but full and the most relaxed he’s been in weeks. Anne has to maneuver from out and under, tucking herself in beside him after cleaning everything off with her discarded drawers. She’ll have to go home later wearing nothing beneath her skirts and his lizard brain makes a valiant attempt for a second round at the thought. But mostly, he’s just thankful that she retains the presence of mind to tidy up, because Gilbert would never live it down if he had to give Bash and Hazel an explanation for the drying cum stains on his chair.

“Beats studying, right?” she laughs, glancing upwards at his face.

Gilbert delivers a clumsy kiss to her hairline, too addled to aim right when he’s sated and brimming with tender feelings of love and contentment. She is everything and more, his Anne with an E. An entire universe distilled into one corporeal form; every hope, wish, and daydream he's ever had come to life.

He will have no one else. Gilbert _wants_ no one else.

And he can’t help but grin, concurrently boyish and bright. “It was still studying, of a kind.”

A reproductive night indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> guess who? 😈
> 
> Update (08/30):  
> it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
> 
> Dying at how everyone (that I saw on twitter) who played along with our little "guess who wrote this" game absolutely clocked me. Some of you guessed this was mine from _the title alone_ , which is truly galaxy brain and further proves that I am Boo Boo the Fool for thinking I could throw you off by writing something canon-compliant and not Modern AU.
> 
> If you liked this, definitely check out the rest of the works in [this collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/The_Shirbert_Circle)! My friends and I all worked really hard on our pieces and had multiple breakdowns in the group chat along the way - so please shower them with all of the kudos, comments, and admiration they deserve!!!!!!!! This fandom is too #blessed to have this many talented authors for our reading pleasure!!!!!! 
> 
> And shout out to Rachel (writergirl8) who was kind enough to beta this literal trash heap. An absolute angel on Earth, what would do without her, etc. etc. etc.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for playing along! See you next time 😈😈😈
> 
> p.s. i'm on twitter/tumblr @bbotanyclub so please come and be my friend


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